


Illusions Shimmer and Fade

by twowritehands



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Lee Pace - Freeform, M/M, PWP, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki keeps telling Thranduil how gorgeous he is, but Thranduil has some self-image issues about his secret disfigurement.</p><p>Pure porn and fluffy stuff happens when Loki shares his own secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusions Shimmer and Fade

Thranduil, in not but his pale velvety skin, moved carefully up the length of the bed and stretched out his long elegant limbs, blond tresses tossed against the voluptuous pillows. Loki, fully dressed, stood at parade rest at the foot of the bed smirking in approval as his gaze fed hungrily on the sight of the elven king’s naked, vulnerable body. Thranduil’s flat stomach and narrow chest, faintly visible ribs gently swelling with his breaths, was a sight well worth the trip across the universe, the magic it took to get here.

Loki wanted the taste of Thranduil’s sweet skin on his tongue, but he kept his feet planted at shoulder width, his hands behind his back. As much as he craved Thranduil he would not act on that desire … not yet. He liked to wait.

Thranduil knew the affect he had on his more powerful, godly lover, drawing a hand slowly up his own body from his thighs to his collarbones and back down to trail in his white-blond pubic hair. “Does the sight of me not even warrant a smile from you, my lord?”

Now Loki did smile, an expression so puckish it was nearly a grimace of evil except for the spark in his eye and the dimples in his cheeks. He chortled, “The sight of you warrants a stronger reaction elsewhere in my anatomy, my sweet bird.”

The elven king’s eyes flashed and his jaw set hard. He lifted to an elbow, moving as swiftly and as smoothly as smoke, “I am not your sweet bird.” His long hair slipped back from his firmly set shoulders like the silent slide of sand in an hourglass.

Loki’s eyes glittered, and his chuckle was guttural, nearly a growl, “Yes you are. And I’ve trapped you.”

Thranduil regally put up his chin, mocked, “And what do you intended to do with your prisoner from all the way over there?”

Oh, how Loki loved that challenging spirit in Thranduil, a force that pushed evenly against his own greedy nature. Thranduil was never one to just give way under Loki’s will like some pliant, mindless doll. He knew how much Loki liked to delay his gratification, but he never allowed him to delay it for long. With this teasing comment, his eyes promised that if Loki did not act quickly then he would miss his chance for so much pleasure and delight that his heart would burst with it.

And so Loki shed his tunic and went to his knees on the foot of the bed. First he scooped up Thranduil’s ankle and kissed the arch of the elven king’s foot. Then he nibbled and nipped a trail down the inside of the long pale, sparsely furred leg, hooking the knee over his shoulder as he passed it, ending with his nose nuzzled against the white peach fuzz of Thranduil’s tight testicles.

As he sucked the satin covered, slippery ovals into his mouth one at a time, Thranduil put his fingers through Loki’s ink black tresses and arched into the pleasure of his mouth, cock filling to stand upright. He pushed his blunt nails down Loki’s back as the god came up to cover him, lips traveling higher, up Thranduil’s stomach, his chest, to his neck, his ear, down his cheek and finally to his mouth.

By the time they broke for air, Thranduil had already undone the front of Loki’s leather pants and worked his hands under them, around to grip his ass and pull the bulge of Loki’s cock against his own. He gasped into Loki’s mouth, and the god relished that intimate little taste of elven breath. Twisting his fingers into Thranduil’s blond hair, Loki said through his teeth, hips grinding feverishly now, “How I have craved you while I was away.”

“More,” Thranduil insisted, hissing from the tug of his hair, pushing Loki’s pants down to free him so their cocks could slide together flesh on flesh. Loki pinned Thranduil’s wrists above his head with one hand. Though his elven strength could best such a hold, he did not break it but lay compliant beneath the reverent touches of the Asgardian prince.

Upon his knees, Loki rocked to and fro over the elven king, dragging the head of his cock up and down the pale king’s arousal in tantalizingly slow strokes. His fingers mapped Thranduil’s precious beauty from sculpted face to jutting hip bone, over hardened pink nipples and shallow belly button and back.

He could feel Thranduil resisting the urge to writhe beneath him, the little shudders and gasps that he fought to control as Loki took his pleasure as leisurely as he liked. His own blood boiled for the frenzy of free abandon, but to give in would bring it all to an end far too quickly. Loki would make this last.

Craving more of that sweet breath, he kissed Thranduil, fingers trailing lightly down the crease of thigh and groin, the crown of his cock skating through a drop of dew blossomed from Thranduil’s slit.

The king’s arms tensed in Loki’s one-handed hold as he broke the kiss to gasp, throwing his iridescent face into his lithely muscled bicep, and biting his lip, back arching.

“Flawless,” Loki choked as his own hips broke rhythm, thighs shaking as he rutted freely for a moment against him. “You are pure perfection.”

“Hmm,” the hum resonated in the elven king’s chest as the corners of his lips lifted at the compliment, “My lord.”

“Thranduil,” Loki groaned back. He caressed the flawless body before him more, managing somehow to find control again as he decided he was not finished enjoying this yet. Beneath him, Thranduil writhed, lost to a quickening end. Before Loki’s eyes he came undone, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack. Tremors wracked his body as he spilled his seed.

Such a magnificent sight.

Loki released his wrists and repositioned himself against the king, who took them both in hand. He thrust against the king’s softening flesh, relishing the little gasps and sounds of oversensitivity from Thranduil, pleasure rising with his blood, the whole of his insides climbed higher and higher, swelled ever larger, until his hips snapped and the white hot center of it all burst and bled.

The flush of heat, the roaring sensation of flight beneath his skin, the pull of death itself plummeting through him—no one but Thranduil had ever made this happen. His friend. His one and only star in the heavens.

They settled together against the pillows to catch their breaths and chase away the chill of the vast chamber by staying close. Thranduil mouthed lazily at the underside of Loki’s jaw. Loki stroked his blond hair and kissed whatever his lips could reach, "My desire for you can never be sated. Your faultless beauty is a drug to my senses. When I am away for too long, I can scarcely think for the intensity of my longing, my need to consume every unspoiled piece of you.”

In the course of this speech, Thranduil’s lips had stopped working against Loki’s jaw and by the end of it, the elven king had moved away and out of Loki’s arms completely. “Is that all that brings you back time and again? My beauty?”

Loki, still reclined, stretched out an arm to comb his fingers through the ends of Thranduil’s hair, straightening the silky blond locks against the swooping plane of the king’s back. “You are the single most desirous vision I have ever seen in the whole of the universe. My blood boils with lust at the mere thought of you.”

Suddenly Thranduil was out of reach and--Loki could not comprehend the reason for it--pulling on a heavy robe, the hem of which pooled around his feet and hid every inch of his skin. Loki sat up, grinning crookedly, and said in his low, smoky timber, “I’m not through with you yet.”

But when Thranduil turned to face him, his expression was not one to answer the sensual tone Loki had used. It was stone cold and unreadable. “Go.”

“What?” Loki laughed, bewildered, rising from the bed to his feet, a wide and doleful expression for once replacing the waggish smirk.

“GO!” Thranduil screamed with unaccountable ferocity, “If a token of beauty to sate your lust is all I am to you-- after _all_ this time--then--go!”

The unshed tears alarmed Loki, and he caught Thranduil, pulling his face up by the chin to meet his eye, his question unspoken but burning in his eyes. Thranduil looked away from that gaze and answered, “What if I had no beauty?”

With a shimmer, the pearl of Thranduil’s cheek melted into heinously charred flesh and bare sinew, his teeth visible through the gaping open side of his face, pink and blistering scars running all the way up into his hair, mangling his pointed ear.

Loki cried out, releasing him and stepping back. Thranduil crumpled in on himself and turned away. This time, his voice was less forceful and trembled with an edge of wetness, “Just go.”

The god stayed in place, mind whirling. An illusion spell. How could he have missed it? How could he have not sensed it? He could usually smell magic from across the room. How had he kissed it and licked it and sucked at it and not _known_?

His greed for knowledge overwhelmed him and he grabbed Thranduil by the shoulder to turn him around, his questions spilling one after the other, asking after the fundamentals of the magic, and which course of concealment he used to keep it so undetectable. As he asked, he thumbed at the discolored and mangled face.

Thranduil pushed his hand away, confused into speechlessness, eyes brimming with distrust. Finally, he stammered, “Y-you only ask about my magic?”

Loki smiled, “Your magic is _astounding_ to cover this without my knowledge.” He moved back in to reach for Thranduil’s disfigurement, not quiet touching it. “What happened to you?”

“Dragon fire,” Thranduil breathed, his eyes falling closed. He moved into Loki’s touch and the god leaned in to kiss the scars. Thranduil trembled.

“I’ll stay the night, if I may,” Loki whispered. Tranduil took hold of him as if to stop himself from falling. Loki put his arms around him, his heart knocking against his breast plate. “I have something of my own to show you.”

He gently removed himself from Thranduil’s clutch, unable to bear the feeling of someone jumping away in disgust. Once safely out of arm’s reach, Loki closed his eyes and willed the truth to be seen. He heard Thranduil’s gasp of surprise and when he opened his eyes he saw the added shock splash across the regal elven stare at the sight of Loki’s blood red eyeballs stark in his dark blue, ritualistically scarred face. He looked down at his own hands, the long ugly claws at the end of his knotty blue-black fingers. They were shaking. He fisted them.

Thranduil’s touch came as a surprise. The elven king had moved so quickly and silently across the distance Loki had put between them and now covered Loki’s ugly hands with his own exquisite porcelain fingers, rings glittering in the candlelight. His voice was low with wonder, “Frost Giant….then you are not a god of the highest realm.”

Pain twisted through Loki at the death of this lie he had maintain in this part of his life. How he would miss this magnificent elf bowing to him, whispering in the dark _my lord if it pleases you_. He would be lucky now if Thranduil did not look at him like he was a dog; Jodenheim filth. The thought put shakes in Loki’s body and he sat heavily back on the bed. “No. I am not even a giant. Among my own people I am small and weak …..I am nothing.”

Sharp silver-green eyes bore into Loki, who felt so vulnerable in his blue skin that he twitched the magic back into place at once. Standing over him, Thranduil took hold of his now peach colored chin and tilted his face toward the light, ran a finger lightly over one cheek where seconds before the gruesome half-finished scars of Laufey’s clan had been visible.

When he spoke, it was in disbelief. “But you are so god like.”

“Thank you.” This was truly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. “I was taken from Jodenheim as an infant and raised in Asgard by Odin.”

“A war trophy?”

Loki’s throat clicked as he nodded. Thranduil continued to observe him, always as silent and still as the grave when contemplating serious matters. The hush felt too pressing, like water drowning him. Loki spoke to break the pressure, and rattled on about concealment spells, comparing his to the elven king’s breathtaking magic until Thranduil silenced him with a kiss, hands encasing his face, robe slipping down to his elbows, blonde hair cascading once again over his shoulders to fall over Loki’s forearms where he grasped the elf’s biceps.

“You speak endlessly of your craft,” Thranduil accused lightly. Loki had his eyes closed, but could hear the smile in the words. With a tug, he brought Thranduil down into his lap. Together they shed the rest of the heavy, kingly robe so that he was once again bare.

“Magic is all that I have,” Loki confessed. Thranduil tilted his head a little to the left in total disagreement. “You have also all that magic has brought you. Power, adventure,” his silvery green eyes cut bashfully to Loki, “…It has brought you to me.”

Loki’s chest expanded with an explosion of heartbeats. Thranduil did not think him a monster. He wrapped his arms around his lover, asking, “And do I have you, my sweet bird?”

Thranduil allowed himself to be pulled closer, a smile lighting his face as their noses brushed lightly. “I am still _not_ your sweet bird,” he insisted slowly with firm resolve, fingers skating lightly down Loki’s bare chest. “But yes, you have me.”

They kissed now as if they had never kissed before. Their lips explored skin anew, breathes rippling across magic, hands smoothing the spells back into place, hearts thundering as they melded. “As you have me,” Loki whispered in return.


End file.
